Night Film(23)

“What is it?” he asked, nodding at the coat.

“Ashley’s coat,” she said. “She was wearing it when she came into the restaurant.” She picked up her knife and fork and cut into her French toast. “She left it with me. When the police came later, asking about her, I gave them a black coat from the lost and found and said that one was Ashley’s. If they found out I was lying, I was going to say I’d mixed up the tickets. But they never came back.”

Hopper slid the coat toward him, unfolded it, holding it up by the shoulders. For all its elaborate stitching, the coat looked worn, even seemed to smell of the city, the dirty wind, the sweat. The inside was lined with black silk, and I noticed, sewn into the back collar, a purple label. LARKIN, it read in black letters. Rita Larkin was Cordova’s longtime costume designer. I was about to mention this detail when I noticed there was actually a long dark hair stuck to the sleeve in an elongated S.

“Why’d you lie to the cops?” Hopper asked Nora.

“I’ll tell you guys. On one condition. I want to be part of the investigation.” She looked at me. “You said last night you were investigating Ashley.”

“It’s nothing that formal,” I said, clearing my throat, managing to look away from the coat and at Nora. “I’m really investigating her father. And Hopper’s just here today. We’re not partners.”

“Yeah, we are,” he countered, shooting me a look. “Absolutely. Welcome to the team. Be our friggin’ mascot. Why’d you lie to the police?”

Nora stared at him, taken aback by his intensity. Then she looked at me, awaiting my response.

I said nothing, because I was adjusting to what it meant, this encounter with Ashley. I took a deep breath, trying to at least pretend I was considering her request. For the record, it’d be over my dead body that I’d ever employ a sidekick—particularly one who’d just crawled out of the Florida boonies.

“This is not the adventure of a lifetime,” I said. “I’m not Starsky. He’s not Hutch.”

“If I’m not involved from beginning to end when we find out who or what made Ashley die before her time”—she articulated all of this decisively, as if she’d rehearsed it sixty times in front of the bathroom mirror—“then I’m not telling you what she was like or what she did, and you can both get lost.” She slid the coat back and began to mash it inside the bag.

Hopper looked at me expectantly.

“There’s no need to be so black-and-white about it,” I said.

She ignored me.

“Okay. You can work with us,” I said.

“You swear?” she asked, smiling.

“I swear.”

She extended her hand, and I shook it—mentally crossing my fingers.

“It was a quiet night,” she went on eagerly. “After ten. There wasn’t anyone in the lobby. She walked right in wearing that, so of course I noticed her. She was beautiful. But really thin, with eyes almost clear. She looked right at me and my first thought was, Oh wow, she’s pretty. Her face was more in focus than everything else in the room. But as she turned and started walking toward me, I felt scared.”

“Why?” I asked.

She bit her lip. “It was like, when you looked into her eyes the human part was detached and there was something else looking out.”

“Like what,” Hopper prompted.

“Don’t know,” she said, gazing down at her plate. “She didn’t seem to blink. Or breathe, even. Not when she pulled off that red coat, not when she handed it to me, not when I gave her the ticket. As I hung it up on the coat rack, I could feel her eyes on me. When I turned back, I thought she’d still be standing there, but she was already disappearing up the stairs.”

I’d witnessed the same startling movement when she’d suddenly appeared in the subway.

“At that point, other people came in. As I was checking their coats I noticed she was coming back down the stairs. Without looking at me she headed outside. I figured she’d gone out to smoke. I didn’t see her come back, so I figured I’d been so busy I missed her, but at the end of the night her red coat was still hanging there. The only one left.”

She took a quick gulp of water.

“Three days went by,” she went on. “Every night when I closed the coat-check booth I put her coat in the lost and found. When I returned the next day, I’d take it out and hang it up. I was sure she’d come back for it. But I dreaded it, too.” She paused, tucking her hair behind her ears. “At the end of my shift on the fourth night it was cold out and I only had this navy windbreaker. So after I closed up, instead of returning her coat to the lost and found, I put it on and I walked out wearing it. I could have taken any of the coats from the lost and found. But I took hers.”

Nora stared down at her hands, her face flushed. “The next day when I arrived at the restaurant, the police were there. They saw me walk in wearing her coat. When they told me what happened, I was so upset, what I’d done. I was afraid they’d think I had something to do with it. So, I took the Yves Saint Laurent coat out of the lost and found and said that one was hers.” She took an agitated breath. “I thought for sure they’d find out I lied, that they’d show it to her family. But …” She shook her head. “No one came back to ask me anything. Not yet, anyway.” She looked at me. “Only you.”